


Bête Noire

by zeitgeistic (faire_weather)



Series: Bête Noire [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Severitus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-10
Updated: 2006-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faire_weather/pseuds/zeitgeistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus loves Potter most in Potions class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bête Noire

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of two. Harry Potter is 18 years old in this fic. DO NOT ARCHIVE.

Bête Noire: \bet-NWAHR\, noun. French: ‘black beast’. Something or someone which is particularly detested or avoided.

“Severus…”

Severus came hard.

It was beautiful the way Potter’s body shimmered and trembled when he finally rolled off of him, stretching out beside him on the bed and popping his back. He was still trying to slow his ragged breathing, diffuse the deliriously wicked thoughts that ran through his brain and shuddered down his spine every time he saw Potter like this—so innocently debauched.

Potter was gasping for breath, ignoring the searing trickles of sweat running down his chest and face, as his eyes fluttered shut and his flushed cheeks heaved with the torturous act of breathing. His black hair was plastered to his face, obscuring that wretched scar and Severus smirked delightedly to himself, smug in the knowledge that no one ever had—or ever would—see Potter in such a state of satiated pleasure as he did now.

The rustle of fabric and the feel of trembling limbs stretching over him, Severus slowly opened one eye and watched as Potter moved to retrieve his discarded clothing.

“You may stay here tonight, if you so wish,” he muttered, though with no small amount of haughty arrogance. Potter turned sharply, wet skin reflecting what was left of the waning sunlight filtering through the windows and stared—hard—at Severus.

He was maturing so much faster than the other students. Perhaps that was why Severus found himself so attracted to a seventeen year old boy. Perhaps it was the tall, lithe figure, the strong jaw and nose, the long, determined hands, the straight almost-sinister hair framing tragically green eyes behind thin-framed glasses.

Or, perhaps, it was that Severus felt a certain amount of narcissistic lust, because if he fluttered his eyelids nearly shut, Potter’s sharp features reminded Severus of himself at that age.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said,” Severus repeated, stressing the words as though speaking them were like acid glittering on his tongue, “that you may stay with me tonight if you wish.” He rolled over on his side and glared at Potter, daring him to refuse or take the offer in an entirely unintentional way with some maudlin response.

He wasn’t sure if Potter would agree or not, and the cavalcade of emotions flittering across the boy’s features unsettled him—felt like a highly strategized putsch bearing down on the fortitudes of his mind—but he knew Potter was unaware of the effect green eyes had on him and he knew Potter was unaware of the effect the susurration of his breathing had on him.

He was frightened and he wished he could withdraw the words, but they hung in the air next to his foolishness—hovering lightly amid the mounting tension.

“Okay,” Potter replied, and he slipped back into the bed, drawing the duvet up to his neck and curling up fetal-position on his side as the sun finally slipped over the mountains, alpenglow light lingering only moments outside the window before it disappeared.

Severus fell asleep with his fingers hovering inches above Potter’s hair, gaining the confidence to touch him again only with the listlessness of unconsciousness.

-x-

“I feel sick.”

Severus didn’t look up. Potter was always ill lately, and Severus’ supply cabinet was dreadfully low on pain-relieving and nausea-reducing draughts. He would start making the boy prepare replacements if this continued much longer.

“Perhaps you should reign in your stubbornness and see Pomfrey, then,” he replied absently and licked the tip of a finger, pressing it to the corner of a page as he turned it. He could feel the petulant whining before it even reached Potter’s throat, but, damn it, he was tired of listening to it and he was going to get his way this time.

“I don’t want to.”

“You will,” he growled flicking his eyes up to the boy. Potter shivered, and in that moment, Severus knew he’d won.

-x-

Severus loved Potter most during potions class.

If asked, he wouldn’t be able or inclined to explain why, but he did nonetheless. Maybe it was because of the way Potter’s eyes narrowed at him in true detestation every time he took points from Gryffindor or the manic lilting his voice became when he protested or argued with Severus about something or other. It could’ve been the way his hands always shook when Severus was near, and the warring confusion it caused him when he tried to assimilate whether it was from fear or lust. But, regardless of what it was, Severus loved him most during potions class.

Potter walked in twenty minutes late with a look of absolute horror and uncertainty spread delicately across his face, and though Severus knew where he’d been, he refused to pass up the opportunity to goad Potter. When Potter was riled up, Potter was absolutely wicked in bed. He would ask Potter later what Pomfrey said.

“Lovely for you to deem my class worthy of your time today, Potter,” he purred spitefully. “We’d all begun to worry that you thought us below your social standards, what, given your awe-inspiring heritage.”

He was already half-way to his desk, but he stopped, turned so slowly that it might’ve been the world beginning to spin backwards, and just looked at Severus. Severus felt a shiver run down his spine at the wild eyes, quiet mouth, and knew that tonight would be amazing. It always was.

The rest of the class watched curiously, heads tilting slightly as they tried to understand the unashamed lack of fury on Potter’s face. He looked frightened. Terrified—and perhaps Severus had taken it too far today. Potter always hated it when he spoke of his parents, but that still didn’t account for the wide-eyed fear and the slight trembling of his fingers when he parted his lips as if to say something, changed his mind, and turned back around.

“I apologize, Professor,” he said quietly and continued walking towards his desk.

Severus was furious. He wasn’t meant to apologize, he was meant to snarl and bicker and battle with him—get their tempers up so that they could unleash it on each other after class. Potter had gone too far.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for being late…and detention with me tonight.”

“What’s the detention for, Professor?”

“Your cheek!” he hissed. Everyone in the class flinched, but Potter only looked at him, and his eyes were still as wide as they’d been before, but it wasn’t horror in them anymore. It was realization—acceptance—and that was something that frightened Severus even more.

They stared at one another for a long time, neither willing to back down. When the look in Potter’s eyes became too much for him, Severus looked away.

He’d never once looked away first before.

-x-

Potter didn’t show up for his detention that night, and Severus wasted no time storming up to Dumbledore’s office to bitch about it.

Potter had never dared to miss one of Severus’ detentions, and just because they were fucking didn’t mean Severus wouldn’t at least attempt to have him expelled for it. It was insulting. The little brat thought he could get away with anything just because he could get into Severus’ trousers. He was having none of it.

“Albus!” Severus snarled, sweeping into the headmaster’s office, uncaring of the late hour. “Albus!” he called again, louder—angrier—this time, and the headmaster emerged from the side door that led from his bedroom wearing blue pajamas with lemon drops on them.

He rubbed sleepily at his eyes, scratched his sleep-disheveled hair, and twinkled at Severus.

“Severus, my boy,” Dumbledore greeted amicably. It always amazed Severus how quickly Albus Dumbledore could erase the effects of sleep from his body and voice. Sometimes, Severus was quite sure that Dumbledore never slept at all, and sometimes Severus was willing to bet on it, even though he was never a man who left anything to chance.

“Could I offer you a lemon drop?” Dumbledore continued, and Severus realized that he hadn’t, in fact, even noticed the man crossing the room to sit behind his desk. He suspected that Dumbledore might’ve found a flaw in the Hogwarts apparation wards and occasionally used it to catch his students and professors off guard.

“I’ll not accept it if you do,” Severus snarled back. Dumbledore shrugged and helped himself, staring up at the ceiling as he waited for the professor to get on with it. Severus hated these games.

“Potter didn’t show up for detention tonight.” He always liked to get straight to the point, and since Dumbledore was still suckling on a lemon drop and twiddling his thumbs, it was no small wonder that he was forced to just say it instead of being invited into conversation.

“Oh?” Dumbledore was finally looking at him—twinkling in a bemused sort of way. “That’s not very like him, is it?” In that moment, Severus wanted nothing more than to strangle Dumbledore and piss on him like the charlatan he was—masquerading about as if he were all-knowing, when in fact Severus speculated that he was indeed like one of those muggle television diviners. Give them a ring on the telephone and they’ll charge you a couple quid a minute to tell you your lover’s unfaithful.

Instead, Severus narrowed his eyes dangerously, and if Albus couldn’t see the threat in that, then Severus couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. Was there no one with any sense of lawfulness? He felt as though he were beginning to unravel the first ribbons of evidence proving that he was indeed the center of some Hogwarts conspiracy.

Sometimes, Severus rather wished that he hadn’t made himself such a social pariah—at least then he would hear enough gossip to know who was behind it all.

“I insist that you make him attend his detentions. He cannot expect to be treated any better than the other students simply because he’s some paladin with a boot on the chest of the most recent demagogue,” Severus snarled.

“I’d hardly call Voldemort a demagogue, Severus, honestly,” Dumbledore dismissed casually.

“Yes, and I’d hardly call your segues subtle, Dumbledore. You’re trying to derail me. I insist that you require the brat to attend his detentions!”

Dumbledore finally looked down from the ceiling and gave Severus the oddest look he’d ever seen, which, admittedly, coming from Dumbledore was quite magnificent. It was when Severus noticed the distinct lack of a second lemon drop in the headmaster’s mouth that he realized he should probably bite his tongue. It would not do to be dismissed for lack of faith in the twice and current savior.

“Severus…” Dumbledore began hesitantly, and if that wasn’t odd, Severus could fancy himself next in line for a seat in Parliament. “Don’t you think that perhaps, given the circumstances of course, that you could be a little less…harsh on the boy? Surely even you understand the magnitude of this situation. It’s most certainly not something to be taken lightly.”

“What are you talking about?” Severus ground out. And if Albus Dumbledore didn’t stop running him in circles and defending the bloody Brat-Who-Repeadly-Lived, he might just rip his own hair out.

In the end, Dumbledore had given him a pitying look—as if he needed any sort of pity—and told him in no uncertain words that for once, he was going to have to get his information elsewhere. Which meant that he was going to have to get it from Potter.

There was something afoot, and Severus hated nothing more than he hated a mystery.

-x-

In class the next day, he was fuming because certainly a night spent lying awake discovering new and painful ways to humiliate Potter for disregarding his authority would leave one with little time for rest. He was tired and peevish, which wasn’t something altogether unusual, but since it was in fact Potter who’d put him in the position, it was only expected that Potter receive the brunt of it.

And that wasn’t unusual, either.

So, when the seventh years stumbled into his class, he paired Potter with Longbottom and deliberately assigned a potion that Potter wouldn’t have even been able to brew with Granger next to him, and waited it out. It was seven minutes before class end when he heard it. The unmistakable glorious sound of a cauldron exploding—glorious only because it gave him reason to keep Potter after class, and wasn’t that convenient?

He didn’t even have to say it, which was a testament to how well he had Potter trained because as soon as he lifted his eyes from marking papers when the cauldron exploded, Potter sighed melodramatically and waved his hand dismissively at Severus.

“Yes, yes. Detention. After class. I know.”

Severus sneered. Exactly.

“And fifty points from Gryffindor.” For Potter, he would’ve taken points from his own house. That’s how much he loved him. Twisted logic, but Severus felt it was justified.

After class, Potter stayed back like a good boy and waited demurely—which was odd in and of itself—for Severus to address him. His shoulders were slumped and there was a distinct smudge of purple underneath his eyes, but Severus didn’t worry. It wasn’t like Potter was going die—it wasn’t his style.

“Are you planning on explaining yourself?” he finally asked, making sure his words held as little concern as possible. When Potter tensed, Severus settled in for a long afternoon. This was going to be like pulling teeth. Not that that particular activity actually took very long once you had your mind set on it.

“I’d rather not, actually,” Potter muttered, and Severus’ brows hit his hairline in…something. He couldn’t actually tell if it was disbelief, amusement or annoyance.

“What did Pomfrey say?” Severus asked instead. There were several layers to whatever Potter was brooding about, and the more the snipped away, the easier it would be for him to at least guess the final result.

But Potter started looking a little green with that question, like he didn’t not only not want to answer, but he also didn’t even want to know himself. He looked repulsed and disgusted with someone—maybe himself—and when his eyes lifted up shyly to stare at Severus, his throat suddenly contracted and he gagged a little bit.

Was he so repulsive that Potter couldn’t even look at him any more? Severus sneered at the thought. Of course he was—the Golden Boy Savior of the Wizarding World fucked his potions master and regretted it, but that doesn’t explain why he was sick.

“Answer me,” he commanded in as even a voice as he could manage. Pushing away the thought that clearly told him he was quite distraught with Potter being repulsed by him was not an easy task.

“I wasn’t exactly sick, you see,” Potter finally muttered, and Severus closed his eyes in annoyance because if Potter was a woman, he’d swear that he was about to tell him that he was pregnant or some other such nonsense.

“Then what?” Severus barked.

“Well, Madame Pomfrey didn’t know what was wrong with me, so she ran some blood tests.” Potter suddenly shook his head and stood up, pulling his cloak off and dropping it to the floor. “I can’t do this right now,” he said as he bent over to unlace his shoes. He pulled them off, and then his socks, and as he was unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers, he said, “I just want to fuck. Just…just fuck me one more time because afterwards you’ll not want me again.”

And who was Severus to deny a request like that? And who was Potter to assume that Severus would not want him anymore? Potter was amazing in bed and Severus fancied that he loved him, which was more than he could say about anyone else he’d ever known, so he might as well just drop his trousers and get on with it because Potter obviously wasn’t going to tell him until Severus’ cock was firmly seated in Potter’s arse. So he did.

They were fully naked in a matter of moments and Potter was thrown down on the chaise in his office, panting and mewling like a backstreet whore. Severus liked him best that way, even though he loved him best other ways.

He was balls-deep in Potter, staring down at him through wet, sweaty clumps of hair when he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know. He had to because Potter’s chest was gleaming prettily in the humidity of the dungeon room and his neck was arched just so and his Quidditch-roughened hand was jerking himself erratically and Severus just couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to come, but he wasn’t going to be able to until Potter told him.

“Tell me,” he grunted, accentuating the words with thrusts into Potter’s tight little body. “Tell me what Pomfrey said. Tell me why you skipped detention.”

Potter mewled beautifully with his eyes closed and opened his mouth just a little. “She said…” he mumbled throatily and trailed off. Severus pounded into him hard enough to jolt him back on track and Potter’s eyes fluttered open for a second. “She s-said we’re…”

“We’re what?” Severus growledmoanedbreathed in between achingly satisfying thrusts. He almost couldn’t take it anymore.

“Related,” Potter breathed out and Severus paused mid-thrust.

“…How related?” he asked a moment later. Potter’s eyes fluttered open again, but the hand on his cock didn’t stop.

“Paternally,” Potter said hoarsely. “As in…you’re mine.”

And then it all came flooding back to Severus in a rush of cold, burning fire through his veins. Lily Potter—he’d had designs on her since third year—with those big beautiful green eyes. Green was always Severus’ favorite color, and then there was Voldemort and Voldemort was never one to pass up a good show.

She’d been delivered to him for a night as a job-well-done after a particularly nasty raid—looking decidedly less debauched than she should’ve been. Right there in front of the Dark Lord and all of his Death Eaters and who was Severus to say no to that when he’d wanted her for so long?

She was sine qua non…like Potter…and Severus couldn’t’ve said no to those drugged-up green eyes for anything. Glaring prettily up at him from where she was shackled to the stone floor. He’d needed to have her right then. It was tragically vital.

And then realization hit home and Severus stared down into Potter’s huge green eyes and then to his hand still running up and down his pretty cock and to his own, still buried balls-deep inside him. He was still hard. Achingly so, and if that wasn’t telling, then Potter’s eyes when he looked back into them were.

Desiring. Lustful. Wanton.

Potter was such a wanton little slut. Such a perverted little thing.

And then Severus realized that he was, too, because somewhere during his inner-conflict, he’d started thrusting into Potter again and Potter was moaning again and jerking his hand up and down his cock like a kamikaze fighter.

He wondered what kind of perverted dystopian world he was living in when he could do this with no remorse. Severus was desperately close to coming and he realized that this was some sick sort of necessity. Potter was sine qua non and this was ataraxia, and if he heard nothing else for the rest of his days, he only hoped it would be one word.

“Severus…”

And Severus came. Hard.

Continued in part 2: Entre Nous


End file.
